


Famously Forbidden

by musicallyQueer



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crack, Crack Relationships, Drama & Romance, F/M, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Multi, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, enjoy, might add smut, tbh i wrote this for a school assignment, top voted by class got extra credit, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicallyQueer/pseuds/musicallyQueer
Summary: Donald Trump has been pining for Emmanuel Macron for what seems like ages. Will they find true love, or will their love be Famously Forbidden?





	Famously Forbidden

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, I apologize for this ahead of time. It's kinda rushed, but hey. That's what happens when it's the end of senior year and you've been slammed with three projects, four AP tests, and four finals. Have fun reading my stressed-induced writing of delirium.

In an ancient office building of glistening white, President Donald Trump lounges in the Executive office’s plush brown chair while overseeing the day’s current flood of legislative paperwork. He rubs his chin, sighing as he goes over the new demands from on-the-fence foreign countries concerned about climate control. It’s been a long day filled with negotiating and attempting to spread light about the deception of the scientific left, with little success. 

 

“This is unacceptable,” he mutters to himself, frustrated that he-  _ the _ Donald Trump- can not even convince some simple minded leaders of weaker countries to possibly consider that they are falling for a hoax. Even in his own country, he is mocked for being unintelligent, fascist,  _ orange _ . He is just about to move on to another, less frustrating set of paperwork when a deep thump sounds from the white wooden doors.

 

Nonchalantly, he yells “come in!” without lifting his head.

 

“Mister President, Sir, you have a visitor.” Donald raises his head and finally looks at the man addressing him. He looks concerned, his blonde hair ruffled from nervous fidgeting and his green eyes wide. ‘ _ Generic _ ’, Donald thinks, ready to wave the man off for the unimportant interruption. He is sure he has no visitors scheduled for today- the intruder can go through the same process as everyone else. 

 

“It’s mister Macron, Sir. The staff tried to tell him to make an appointment but he was adamant that he see you  _ now _ .”

 

“Why didn’t you say so earlier. Let him in.” Donald tries to keep his excitement hidden until his staff left the room. Emmanuel Macron, although having opposing political views, has been the primary feature of Donald’s thoughts since he had the pleasure of meeting the Frenchman. His soft hair, the color of the soil surrounding the gift- a tree- Donald was given by him to link them together; and his eyes, an uplifting blue that Donald could gaze into for the rest of eternity. To be truthful, Melania and Donald have been in an open relationship for years now, Donald now finally finding his perfect other match. Straightening his red tie and patting down his ebony suit, Donald readjusts himself in his seat, preparing for a smooth,  _ cool _ greeting to impress the man of his dreams. 

 

A beautiful man strides into the spacious office, his chiseled face searching for the object of his affection. “Donald,” he greets in a thick French accent. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear.” Donald glides out of his chair and approaches his crush, kissing Emmanuel’s cheeks in greeting, although there was a deeper meaning on his part. Grasping Emmanuel’s soft, pale hands, Trump smiles affectionately and gives a light squeeze.

 

“I’m so happy you came today.” Leading Emmanuel towards the bright doorway he had just entered through, Donald ominously continues, “There’s something I actually needed to talk to you about.” Slightly confused, Emmanuel follows Donald’s lead, left hand still joined with his right. Upon arrival to the main sitting room, Donald shoos away the people inside and sits Emmanuel down on the lavish sofa under a magnificent archway and elaborate window.

 

“Donald, is there something wrong?” Worry etches in Emmanuel’s dashingly attractive face, giving him the appearance of a concerned puppy. Donald softly seats himself next to Emmanuel, gently taking Emmanuel’s hands into his own again.

 

“Emmanuel. Emmie, dear, I have something I need to ask you. I only ask that this stays personal and not affect our countries’ future interactions,” he states with a determined face, a hint of fear evident in his grey eyes.

 

“Emmanuel Jean-Michel Fr édéric Macron, would you make me the happiest man in the world and be my boyfriend?” Emmanuel gasps, attempting to process what his dear friend had just said.

 

“But what about Melania?” he asks softly, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“We talked it out, dear. As long as it’s hidden from the public, nothing can come between us anymore.” Emmanuel’s tears spill out as he starts to nod profusely.

 

“Yes,” he breathily replies in a state of gleeful disbelief. “Oh god, Donald, yes!” Jumping into Donald’s arms, Emmanuel embraces his new lover. 

 

Despite the immense joy he felt, Emmanuel’s smile slowly fades in realization and he retracts his now solemn frame. “I have a wife, though, Donald- one not as open-minded as your own.” Donald’s eyes swirl with a sense of fear, confusion, and hurt at the oncoming rejection.

 

“There are ways to work around that, Emmie. We’ll make it work,” he reassures, placing a delicate hand over the smaller man’s shoulder. Emmanuel sharply pulls himself away and stands in defiance, further spreading hurt over Donald’s features.

 

“No, Donald. I am not one of your citizens, and I’m not as easily fooled. You can’t just say everything will work out and put minimal effort into actually fixing the problem.” He huffs, beginning to gesticulate widely. “I mean, my wife aside, I can’t just ignore the needs of my country, as you can’t yours. What will happen when you eventually lead the United States into a state of isolation? When you destroy every last resource on a planet of limited supply, when you strip your citizens of their basic rights and health for the sake of profit?”

 

Donald’s face contorts into one of anger.  _ Is politics really so important to him? _ The idea of such pettiness is enough to make Donald attempt to bite out a harsh retort. But before he could do more than open his mouth in a snarl, Emmanuel grimaces and looks away, softly continuing. “How will I know if you will treat me the same.”

 

Solemnly, Emmanuel briskly walks out off the office, closing the giant doors behind him and leaving Donald in a state of complete shock. 

  
  


* * *

 

**_“Why Emmanuel and Trump Were Practically Inseparable.”_ **

 

**_“Is There Possibly A Bromance Brewing In The Walls Of The White House?”_ **

 

**_“Emmanuel Criticized Trump At The Recent Congressional Meeting.”_ **

 

Emmanuel closes his eyes and huffs. He’s reclined back in his wooden chair,

surrounded by gaudy golden walls, ceilings high enough to stack four or more men, and lavish paintings adorning every pilar. Despite his better judgement, he had decided to check the news regarding his once-close-friend and was bitterly disappointed at how obvious it was to pinpoint when their separation had began. Although it had not been that long since Donald professed his love, every day felt like an eternity to Emmanuel. 

 

He supposed one day they might be able to make amends, but only after he could guarantee the safety and happiness of his people, which would include the United States in his heart if he reciprocated Donald’s affections. He logically knew that Donald was kind, but if he refuses to even listen to his citizens’ plea for basic happiness, how was he to be expected to listen to Emmanuel as well? Millions are louder than one, so how could he know?

 

_ One day, maybe _ , he thought. Right now there is too much work to be done, wars to end, and innocent lives at stake.

 

“Monsieur Macron, Sir, there was a terrorist attack in Paris about twenty minutes ago,” the woman clad in a dark blue blouse and grey pencil skirt announced, her dark heels almost bouncing with anxiety.

 

Emmanuel nods, standing up to follow her into a meeting room to discuss the damage and proper procedures. 

  
  


Perhaps their love was just famously forbidden.


End file.
